Writing in the Rain

It’s simple, close your eyes.

Imagine that it’s raining. In your mind where are you, what are you doing, do you feel something in the air?

I love the rain. It doesn’t matter what type. Purple rain, black rain, red rain. It is all the same to me if it is rain that is enough. Well, not acid rain, that’s just bad.

I am talking about the rain that refreshes, rejuvenates, makes you feel alive. There is something organically inherent about it. It also reminds me of my grandmother. I do not know if she loved the rain, I only know that when I am enveloped with in it, I feel her presence.

And there is the question, do I share my secret?

The Definition of rain is not particularly provocative or even enticing. In fact, it is a rather boring:

~ rain:

‘Moisture condensed from the atmosphere that falls visibly in separate drops.‘

How can something so beautiful only receive the barest of lines for a description.

We need rain, the world needs rain. Nutritionally and for vitality, for life itself. It stirs something within each person that can only be described by that individual. By you. Think back to a moment where rain had an emotional impact in your life.

I moved to apart of the west coast, which is considered a rainforest. Walking on the beach while it rains induces the brain to think and imagine. No matter your age.

It is proven that rain can induce a calming effect, it is known to ease anxiety. According to sleep researchers and psychologists falling rain creates a sound known as 'pink noise'. Many people have an active mind, most writers I know do. This pink noise helps block out unwanted sensory input from the outside world, Sirens, street sounds and such. This is similar to white noise that is used to help others sleep, a fan in the bedroom for example.

Technically, pink noise is slightly different. The sound of falling rain lands in the range of 13 kHz to 25 kHz, this means it reduces the complexity of the brain wave. This also depends on the size of the droplets. Medium drops may not generate bubbles, while larger raindrops trap bubbles which produces sound frequencies as low as 1 kHz. When water molecules collide against one another, like rain fall, the result is a creation of negative ions. It is believed that when these negative ions are inhaled it creates a chemical reaction which can reduce anxiety and stress.

Perhaps this why being around water has a calming effect.

Next time it rains, relax, listen and inhale, see if you notice a change within you.

Yet, I believe it is so much more. It is spiritual, emotional. Movies and books have lovers kissing in the rain. There is a reason for that, it has the ability to binds the souls of strangers. It has the capability to lift hearts and crush them at the same time.

As a child on a rainy day, you have two options. Go outside and get enjoyably wet or stay in and let your imagination fly free. There is something about sitting next to a window staring out onto the world as water droplets race down the panes of glass. That magical barrier between you and whatever your mind creates.

In the worlds you created as a child, have you ever ridden a dragon or flown to the moon? Do you remember safaris, trekking into the jungles and befriending wild animals? Discovering ancient treasures or being a pirate on the open seas, all within the safety and confines of your mind? To me rain not only brings forth life in nature, but it also brings to life imagination. It allows you to pause reality for the moment and to daydream without guilt.

As we grow older and turn into unimaginative adults, we forget the simple pleasures of jumping in a puddle. I dare you to do it when no one is looking or better yet, do while everyone is watching.

My grandmother encouraged such imagination. On these rare days of self-contemplation, she would be there with a warm cup of milk or hot chocolate. Maybe a fresh baked cookie. Food and rain go hand in hand. Sit anywhere indoors stare out into the world as the rains fall from the sky. Watch as it forms tiny rivers running down the streets. The sounds of the droplets gently pattering against the home or the cascading beats of torrential rain pounding on your roof. Creating their own mystical beat, a primal musical score. Picture a hot beverage in your hand or a steaming bowl of soup. Comfortably curled up on your couch or wrapped under the blankets of your bed. Watching a movie, you've seen a dozen times or read a book, get lost in a world created with words.

As a child, I would watch the glass fog up while rain drops danced on the windowsill. With interest my grandmother would ask what it was I was seeing out there. And really mean it. I would jump at the chance to share my stories with her. Describing the scene that wandered in my mind, sometimes acting out the tale while she sat and listened. The tolerance and patience of a grandparent is unbounding. Is it love or is it a way of recapturing their youth?

These are the memories of a child. How many times did this happen? It doesn't matter. The memories are vivid and obviously had an impact on me. Really, isn't that enough? Being able to relive the world of imagination through the eyes of a child. Parents do it with their children, with every book they read to them.

Put pen to paper, type away on the keyboard. Let your words flow like water falling from the heavens. This is your space and time to share what is on your mind with others, or keep them to yourself, it is your choice.

Water droplets take the path of least resistance, not the shortest route. Sit and watch the rain fall down a pane of glass, it is a beautiful journey. In life, we are like raindrops, we can learn from that. I used to believe writing a story with the least resistance was lazy or an easy way out, now I am realizing it may be a path worth exploring. Often we have an idea in our head and plow forward, failing to see a different route. We try forcing something that isn’t there. In truth, we need to step back and revaluate the course, change the plan and take a path of least resistance. Nature does it for a reason, who are we to argue.

This still is not the reason the rain reminds me of my grandmother. There is a deeper meaning behind that. I have only shared the reason I love the rain so much with one other soul. Because sometimes I have a challenging time believing it was true, that it really happened.

I never had the privilege of meeting my grandparents on my father’s side, they had passed before I was born. So, I only had one set of grandparents, one grandmother and to me she was everything. She was also taken from us to soon. I was in grade five when I was forced to say farewell to a part of my soul. I do not know if it was hospital policy or adults trying to shield us from the site of a woman who was slipping away, no longer resembling the person we knew. Either way I never had the opportunity to say goodbye, and that has impacted me ever since. I cannot say why. How can someone be there one day and then gone, forever. It is hard for a young mind to comprehend such an event.

So, it happened April 1st. No April fools’ prank, just the truth that she was gone forever. It wasn't until later in life that I realized, if I kept her in my mind and heart, she was there all around me. But as a child I needed proof. I prayed, I pleaded for the chance to let me see her once more. There were nights where I tried to ‘will’ her to appear at the foot of my bed. Hoping to see her if only for a moment. In truth I was desperately looking to find closure. The only person I would believe to tell me she was gone, had to be her. Illogical I know. Until then it wouldn't be real. Worst of all she would never know how much I missed her. I needed to cry, I tried to cry, but how do you cry for someone who you have not said goodbye too? All I wished for was that chance.

The day's crept along into weeks, no vision appeared.

Friends try to cheer you. Adults did not understand, they were grieving themselves. So it went, until one sunny spring day I found myself outside alone. Staring into space. All around me was a blank canvas waiting for me to create a world of my own fantasies. It remained blank. My imagination all but closed off, my stories were for her, and she wasn't there to listen, to smile, to laugh. There would be no hug, no kiss.

No goodbye.

I was a lost soul, a child who stopped believing. I was empty. No child should feel empty. No child should stop believing.

There I stood on the sidewalk in front of our home, staring at the front door waiting for her to appear. Nothing. Arms down, head up, eyes closed. I am not sure if what I did was pray or wish. I do not remember saying anything. I only knew what I thought. I needed her to know how much I loved her, how much I missed her. A whisper, a vision, anything to show me she felt the same.

It was then the skies began to rain, not hard. A soft gentle mist floated down, caressing my face. Opening my eyes, I smiled. Because on either side of me the ground was dry, no dampness, no rain. It fell on me and me alone. The sun still shone. The rain was brief, it was all I needed. I cried for the first time, my tears blended with the falling rain, they became one. She was kissing me with tiny tears from above, I could finally say goodbye.

Now, every time it rains, I smile, knowing I am not alone.

I turn my face to the sky and kiss the rain.

Thank you for the read.

Please note I am fully aware that memories are as fragmented as dreams. Regardless It was a way for my young mind to deal with death, and to me it was real. I do love the rain, and I know my grandmother is with me when I feel drops of rain upon my face.

Jason